Where We're At
by Joani
Summary: It doesn't matter how we got here, it's where we're at that's important.
1. Where We're At

Title: Where We're At Author: Joani Disclaimer: If I owned Third Watch, Alex wouldn't have died, and Cruz would be dead by now. So I think we can all safely say that I don't. Rating: PG-13 for language, violent scenery, and a character death  
  
***  
  
It wasn't supposed to be like this.  
  
Noble was supposed to be a stupid jag-off.  
  
Cruz shouldn't have shown up.  
  
You could have been out of there by the time she arrived.  
  
Now we're having ourselves a Mexican stand-off, and no one's about to run. You've got Noble's gun on her, she's got her gun on you, and I've got my bead on her head. If she tries anything, she won't survive.  
  
No one threatens my partner.  
  
Not even a girlfriend or my boss, or the best lay in the world.  
  
She's been bitching about her sister, and I finally realize exactly how out of it she is, how nutty. How wrong for any police job. Because to her, this isn't a job, this is a vendetta. A hate-filled obsession that threatens not only me now, but the leading lady in my life.  
  
You.  
  
Suddenly, somebody presses the slow-motion button, and my head is moving so much faster than my body. I'm thinking, how did we get to this moment? And I know, but I don't want to think about that, because it doesn't matter how we got here, it's where we're at that's important.  
  
So what are we going to do about this? We both have line of fire on her, but unlike police training, I'm aiming for her head. Blow her screwed up, misbegotten ideas all over the back wall. Damn the consequences.  
  
She's aiming for your chest, I see. You'd better be wearing your vest, girl, otherwise I'm gonna take you outside and shoot. No, that's counter- productive.  
  
A shot is fired, and time suddenly hits fast-forward.  
  
You're looking shocked, but so is Cruz. But it's you who's crumpling to the ground, so it's her head that's the new art deco. And somehow, you're determined to be heard in the pounding blood in my ears, and you fire one that goes wide. They're gonna need a new ceiling now, too.  
  
And Cruz is falling like a headless tree, and you're already on the ground. Noble is just standing there, but I can almost hear his head churning, those thoughts processing.  
  
"You're staying here, Noble, and don't think of runnin'," I tell him. Wouldn't you be so proud, I'm doing the right fucking thing.  
  
I grab your radio and yell a 10-13 for the hotel we're in. I can barely remember the name. Call for a bus too, because I can't see if you're bleeding.  
  
Oh god, I'm terrified to move you. What if I make an injury worse? I don't see any blood, but the light's not so great, and I'm just scared suddenly.  
  
Okay, if I find the guy with the remote control on time, I'm gonna arrest him, because time is in slow-mo again. It's fuckin' taking forever for the bus to arrive.  
  
You're looking awfully pale, but I really don't see any blood, though I'm sure my imagination would love to fill in the detail if I let it. I'm starting to turn you over when Carlos comes in, looking like he's just been fighting his own war.  
  
Doc is with him, and this is weird, but they're here so I don't care any more than that.  
  
"Oh god, what happened here?" one of them whispers, and I move aside for Carlos to come in.  
  
"Gunshot wound somewhere," I mutter, feeling slightly embarrassed at being so useless, "I didn't want to hurt her any more than she was."  
  
Carlos and Doc roll you over, start opening your uniform shirt. My breath hitches, and Carlos leans back, so I can see the Kevlar.  
  
At that moment, I just want to cry. Oh god, thank you God, I will sing your praises.  
  
And right after I'm done thinking of that, a swarm of blue-shirts are in here, swearing quietly as they look at what's left of Cruz.  
  
I don't want to see it.  
  
So I follow you out to the bus where you're starting to pay attention to things. You're still pale, and Carlos mentions he thinks that, from the point-blank range, the bullet broke a rib or two, but you'll be fine.  
  
And that's what's on my mind when the bus drives off, and a couple of haggard detectives approach me and start asking questions.  
  
No, it wasn't supposed to be like this, but you're gonna be fine.  
  
It doesn't matter how we got there, it's where we're at that's important. 


	2. You Say Hi

It's barely begun, but I can feel the unwound tension in the room. The detectives are questioning me left, right, and center.  
  
I make damn sure to tell it to them straight. The whole story, front to back. I'm tired of being Cruz's wind-up toy.  
  
Really, I just let my mind disconnect from my mouth, because I can trust that my mouth will tell the truth. It's when I start thinking that problems begin.  
  
I'll bet you're at Mercy now, getting those ribs looked after. Fred's probably on his way, and he might have Emily and sweet little Charlie with him.  
  
But the questioning is ending, and I'm really surprised that they're ushering me out.  
  
"I wouldn't be too worried, Officer Boscorelli," the detective advises gruffly, "We might have to call you later, but it sounds from your account," and here he emphasises that last word, "that you were just taking out a bit of trash."  
  
He sounds really cynical, like each of those lines on his face have been earned with bitter experience.  
  
That thought was way too insightful, but I forget about it as Det. Briscoe and Det. Green lead me out.  
  
It's not too late out when I finally get out of the station. I'm surprised at this, 'cause I was sure it was night when I came in. But the proof is there - people are wandering around, and there's light. Maybe it's morning and I'm losing track of time. Or my head. Which ever.  
  
But I'm not ready to go home, even though I've been up for about 19 hours. I stand dumbly on the steps of the Precinct, trying to think of what to do next.  
  
Don't want to go home - it'll be quiet there, and it will be me and my thoughts, and I'm not ready to get that personal with them. Ma's isn't open yet, and there's no other bar I want to visit like this. So the best answer is to visit you.  
  
And I don't even give myself time to doubt, I start over to Mercy hospital.  
  
That damned fast-forward button on time has been hit again, because I get there way too fast. Maybe it is my damned head, but I'm already looking up at the entrance and wondering what I'm doing, pushing past these doors like I belong here.  
  
Once I'm in though, I freeze. You might not be here. Fred's probably tried to get you out of here as soon as he can. Can't say as I blame him.  
  
A weight settles in my gut. You probably don't want to see me. It's my fault you're in here. I asked you for help, and the only thanks I can give you is you getting shot. What kind of friend or partner does that?  
  
I'm about to leave when a sweet laugh fills the air, and Charlie has found me and grabbed my hand. I'm not sure why I let him, but he's pulling me along, and I'm not gonna be the S.O.B. that makes his voice break because the truth is that his Uncle Bosco's the reason his mom is here in the first place, and that Papa Fred would probably like nothing more than to run Ol' Bosco through with an IV stand.  
  
"I told Mom you'd come, Uncle Bosco," he tells me in that unbreakable tone of his, and he's already leading me through the crowds, as if he looked inside me, saw my fear, and decided that I'm stupid enough to run away.  
  
But he's dragging me towards a door, and I'm trying to slow him down, but there's no stopping a determined kid when he's going somewhere. And he drags me right into your room, where there's you, layin' on the bed.  
  
Oh shit.  
  
You're awake.  
  
I didn't think I'd have to see you while you're awake.  
  
Charlie quietly shuts the door behind himself as he leaves, and I'm moving towards you and I'm taking your hand and all I can think is that you have every right to slap me.  
  
But instead, you say, "Hi." 


End file.
